


If Wishes Were Horses

by TheVulgarBookworm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Biting, F/M, How so? Find out!, If you dare!, Metamorphmagus Sex, Painful Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Survivor Guilt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, pseudo-bestiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 16:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14572683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVulgarBookworm/pseuds/TheVulgarBookworm
Summary: Hermione awakens, chained in a dungeon, not knowing who has captured her. Porn with minimal plot.





	If Wishes Were Horses

**Author's Note:**

> This is a seriously unhealthy fic with seriously unhealthy coping mechanisms. Could be triggering for some. Mind the tags. Read at your own risk. All mistakes are mine.

For a moment, when Hermione opened her eyes, she had no idea where she was. There was nothing but darkness and pain. That darkness chilled her, and it wrapped around her like a cloak of despair, but she couldn’t remember why that was. The pain was like an old, intimate friend. It was in her head, her marrow, in the very essence of her soul. As far as she knew, darkness and pain were all she had ever known.

As the pain ebbed, becoming a dull ache, the darkness receded, and her vision cleared. A single, guttering torch, burning low, illuminated her prison, for she realized that’s what it was. It all came rushing back at once: the sensation of not being in control, a puppet dancing on strings to some other person’s twisted tune. But whose? The chain binding her now was solid, metal, something real, and not born of magic. She pulled regardless, hoping that it might break free of the bracket on the wall. A hopeless endeavor she eventually gave up on. The dark stone at her back, which she had woken next to, slumped against like a sack of potatoes, leeched her body heat unforgivingly. Hermione drew her arms and legs in, shackles clinking at her wrists, echoing in the quiet, hollow room. She huddled in upon herself, trying to conserve her body heat, wishing for more than just her rather flimsy jumper. It wasn’t long though before she began shivering uncontrollably.

Who had captured her? Diagon Alley mid day was hectic, masses of people scurrying about their business. It could have been anyone, and with so many people about, busy with their own lives, no one was likely to have seen a thing. Sometimes there was no safety to be found in the crowd. She had more enemies than she could count, a side-effect of being friends with the boy-who-lived. The Death Eaters’ ranks had seemed to swell with Voldemort’s return. She would be willing to bet it was one of them, and if that were true, it probably wouldn’t be long before they came and took her from this dank prison. It wouldn’t be long before her captor presented her to Voldemort, as a gift for his amusement, in order to garner the dark wizard’s favor.

It must have been hours later, though time meant nothing in her dark, frozen hell, that a heavy door on the far side of the room opened with a loud groan. The scuff of boots on the stair grew louder as her captor approached. Hermione didn’t want to look up. She wasn’t keen on knowing. Knowing made it real. She kept her head down, forehead resting on her knees, wishing desperately that this was all just a nightmare, and she was actually safe in her bed in Gryffindor Tower, having just left Harry and Ron to their game of chess. She wished desperately, but in her heart she knew the truth. Did it really matter if she looked anyway? If they were just going to give her to a sadistic madman, did it really make any difference who was standing in front of her now?

The voice above her was tinged with amusement, the menace and satisfaction plainly evident. “Courage of a lion? Really? Not quite so brave anymore, are you?” 

Her head snapped up at that, peering into the face of her captor. He towered over her, standing so close the tips of his highly polished boots were millimeters from her own scuffed and worn trainers. Hermione shrank back against the wall involuntarily, startled at his nearness. A predatory smile found its way onto his face, clearly pleased at her reaction, and Hermione cursed herself inwardly. She had experienced the same look on Draco’s face so many times over the years, and had thought herself immune to it, but Lucius Malfoy terrified her in ways his son could not. Draco Malfoy was nothing but a sad little bully. His father was dangerous. He was dangerous, and her life lay in his hands. Considering the way he was staring down at her now, Hermione didn’t think she would live long enough for Voldemort to ever get the chance to torture her.

He reached out, and she drew in a quick breath, but managed not to flinch again. His fingers tangled in her hair. Bile rose in the back of her throat. Hermione remained still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her reaction again. He laughed, his fingers growing more familiar, caressing her as he might a favored pet. 

“Oh, Miss Granger, you are truly delightful. You’re trying so incredibly hard to be brave,” he crouched down in front of her, invading her space, “to convince me that you aren’t terrified, and you might have even succeeded if that fear in your eyes wasn’t so...delicious.”

She spat at him, his face so close to her own, and was horrified when it never reached him. It hung in midair for a moment, and then reversed course, striking her just below her left eye. Lucius smirked wickedly, and struck her hard across the face. She gasped sharply at the unexpected pain, and then his hand tightened on her throat forcefully as he slammed her against the wall. 

“Repelling charm,” he stated simply with a shrug, as if she should have known. “Do you honestly think this is the first time I’ve done this?” 

His eyes were ablaze with mirth as she struggled in his grasp, fingers clawing at the hand squeezing her throat. 

“Such spirit,” he continued, voice filled with admiration and a hint of something else she couldn't place. “A fine gift for the Dark Lord. A rare gift, indeed.” 

He tightened his fingers incrementally further, and that darkness that was so familiar to her began to return swiftly. 

Without warning, he released her, and watched almost clinically while she coughed and sputtered, urgently filling her lungs. 

“Such a pity he doesn’t deserve a gift of such magnificence.” Hermione’s eyes widened at his blasphemy, though she dared not hope just yet. 

He clasped his hands together in front of him, elbows resting lightly on his knees as he continued conversationally. “You know, for someone who claims to be the most powerful wizard in the world, he’s dreadfully dull. Do you have any idea how often he uses the  _ Cruciatus _ curse? Daily?” Lucius scoffed at the thought. “Sometimes I think it’s the only spell he knows. He’s dreadfully boring. And I detest boring.” 

He smiled at her again, index finger moving to indicate in her general direction. “You on the other hand… You’re not boring.” 

He looked her up and down, and her blood turned to ice. 

“In my  _ vast _ wealth of experience, you should be cowering in fear. You should be begging me to be merciful, and yet here you are. You haven’t said a single, bloody word, and you even dared to assault my person.” 

He reached out to caress her cheek, already beginning to bruise. “Were I to toss you at the Dark Lord’s feet, I think you would remain just as defiant. I wonder, would you spit at him too?” 

Hermione summoned all the rage and pain living inside her and hurled it at the man crouching before her. “No, I would kill him given half the chance. Just like I’m going to kill you.”

His smile only grew. “I was hoping you’d say that.” 

It was not the reaction she had anticipated. He continued petting her as he spoke, standing to tower over her once more. 

“Clearly you would get yourself killed within the hour, probably in the first ten minutes, touched by nothing more than a _Cruciatus_ and an _Avada_ _Kedavra_ as so many others have been touched before.” 

He shook his head sadly at the thought, sighing softly. “No, gifting you would clearly be a terrible waste. Any magic that touches you should be as magnificent and rare as that defiant spirit of yours.” 

He removed his velvet cloak, tossing it on the floor next to him. Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm as he reached for the fly of his trousers. Her heart rate increased, beating nearly double. She shook her head frantically, pressing herself back against the wall, knowing what was about to happen. Lucius chuckled darkly, following her, and planted his booted feet on either side of her. 

With a flick of his wrist, the chain binding her hands shortened, pulling her wrists tight to the wall above her head. Hand tangling in her hair once more, he held her head still as he withdrew his prick from his trousers only inches from her face. She watched in revulsion as he stroked his hand along its length. It grew under his touch, the head and shaft taking on a dark rosy hue. He leaned closer.

“I’ll bite,” she hissed at him through clenched teeth, careful to keep her mouth closed, and lips sealed in a grim line so as to keep him out. 

His fingers tightened in her curls. 

He smiled. 

“Why, thank you for the warning,” he purred, and backhanded her across the other cheek. 

Hermione couldn’t stop her gasp of pain, and Lucius used the opportunity to shove his thumbs into her mouth on either side of her jaw. True to her word, she did bite. He hissed in pain, but didn’t try to pull his hands back. He dug his short, hard nails into her gums instead, until she cried out with a muffled whimper around the offending digits, and relaxed her jaw. 

Trapped by his hands between the wall and his body, Hermione could do nothing to stop him when he shoved his cock in and set a punishing rhythm as he fucked her mouth. The back of her head struck the wall with each harsh thrust, and all she could do was attempt to not choke on him as he forced his way into her throat. 

She couldn’t breathe around him. Bile rose as her stomach revolted, and that only made it worse. She tried swallowing it back, but couldn't stop the flow of saliva that soaked the front of her shirt. No one hearing the noises she was making would have mistaken them for sounds of enjoyment, but Lucius clearly didn’t care. He continued using her, taking his pleasure from her, and moaning loudly as her throat convulsed involuntarily around him.

As quickly as he had shoved himself inside her, he withdrew, taking a step back, and leaving her to slump against the wall, boneless and gasping for air. Even through her gagging fit, Hermione glared daggers at him, but he was unmoved. He stood there smiling down at her, pleased with himself, and posing like a show pony before an audience, his hand moving over his spit-slick cock. She was still coughing uncontrollably when he hauled her to her feet by the hair, forcing her to rise with a pained grimace. The chain shortened along with her change in position, and she found she had no more leeway than she’d had before.

Lucius released his grip on her hair, his hand trailing down her neck, and then both hands were on her, ripping her shirt down the middle. It was this act that finally had her sobbing, her tears flowing freely down her face to mingle with the snot and saliva. He kneaded her breasts roughly, biting into her flesh so hard that he drew blood. She couldn’t stop the grunt of pain, but Hermione managed, barely, to grit her teeth and keep from crying out. He tore the rest of her shirt off, throwing the tattered remains to the floor, and worked his hand into the waistband of her faded jeans. She tried kicking at him, but he was much too close as he pinned her, and her movement only served to aid him as he slipped his fingers between her legs, driving them inside harshly. Hermione stilled under his assault as every little movement caused him to slip further inside. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head as if trying to deny his presence, or to deny what was happening.

It didn’t seem to amuse him for long, and he soon had divested her of her jeans and knickers so that she stood before him, chained, in nothing but her bloodying bra. He stepped closer, intending to hook her legs around his waist, and Hermione turned her face away from him, refusing to look. There was only one reason he would want to see her face. The bastard wanted to see her humiliation. He lifted her up, his hands beneath her arse, and lined up his length with her entrance. In a single thrust, he buried himself with a roar, his balls slapping against her. Her head surged back, striking the wall, and she grimaced and whimpered from the pain of his intrusion, but made no other sound. Hermione buried her face in the crook of her arm as he fucked her, the only sounds, his harsh grunts and moans, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

“You don’t want to look at me, fine. I don't actually need you to,” Lucius snarled in anger and withdrew, spinning her around, and shoving her into the wall. 

He kicked her feet apart, and sheathed himself back inside her. The hard surface was unforgiving against her bruised cheek, the rough hewn stone cutting into her face and chest as her flesh scraped against it with his every thrust. 

Hermione picked a spot on the wall, covered in moss, and concentrated on it in an effort to block him out. He only seemed to grow more vicious the quieter she got, and was soon slamming into her unresponsive body.  _ He’ll finish, and it’ll be over soon _ , she told herself.

“Fight me! Scream for me, little lion,” he growled at her angrily, but got no response. 

He stopped moving and held himself still inside her as he pressed against the length of her back to speak directly in her ear. “Of course, how could I have forgotten?” His breath was harsh from his recent exertion. “You want that exquisite magic I promised. You need it, don’t you? Of course, you do.” 

She didn’t say anything. 

He pressed his hand to the back of her head, holding her against the wall. “Let’s have a look then, shall we?”

His magic pierced her mind like daggers, and then the bastard was inside seeing everything, and she couldn’t hide from him. She desperately wanted to scream, but steadfastly refused. He pulled out of her mind the same instant he pulled free of her abused body, and Hermione sagged against the wall breathing heavily, fighting against the rising tide of the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. 

“Your bravery is starting to bore me now,” but the smile in his voice belied his words. 

“Transfiguration used to bore me too. It was far too easy, you see, but I suppose there really is no way to make  such a thing interesting for one who already knows it so intimately.” Lucius’ hands were all over her, pulling and prodding intimately at her flesh as though he knew it by heart. “I’m sure you are familiar with how difficult the process is to become an Animagus.” 

Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened. Hermione suddenly found herself hanging on his every word, and extremely worried. Lucius Malfoy was  _ not  _ a registered Animagus. 

“I know where your thoughts are going,” he continued, “and you’d be wrong.” 

“ _ Animagi _ ,” he said with derision. “All that effort, only to be stuck in one form. Tell me, you brave little thing, have you ever heard of metamorphmagi? Do you have any idea what we can do?” 

Hermione froze, and then her respiration rate went through the roof as she began to hyperventilate. “You know, most people think  _ peacock _ when they try to describe me, but not you. Hmm, a ‘show pony’ is it.  How interesting. I knew you weren’t going to be boring.”

Hermione began pulling at her bonds again, to no avail. Certainly, he was only trying to scare her. 

Wasn’t he? 

It was working. 

She was panicking, and the cries were rising in her throat. Lucius’ hand caressed up the length of her spine possessively before closing on the back of her neck. He leaned in close again as he held her in place to stop her thrashing. 

“Let’s see if you scream for me now,” he whispered.

The blunt cock-head that found its way to her entrance, slicking along the length of her, was far larger than the already generous intrusion that had so recently savaged her. 

“No,” she whispered morosely, but he did not stop. 

The wide, flat head forced its way inside, not rough though not gentle either. It just was. His groan of pleasure was deafening in the silence of the dungeon, so close to her ear, and Hermione sobbed brokenly as her abused body made way to accommodate him. He kept pressing forward, inexorably, and Hermione forced her body to relax around him despite the cramping in her guts protesting against his size. She knew that if she didn’t manage it, he would tear her beyond repair, and then he would probably just fuck her to death as she bled out on his massive horse cock.

Hermione could feel that the thing methodically working its way into her wasn’t anywhere close to the size of the actual animal, thank Merlin, but knowing that didn’t make it feel any better. She thought the torture of Lucius sheathing himself would never end, and then finally, mercifully, the flared head could go no further and he stopped. His breathing was harsh on the back of her neck as he struggled for control, clearly overwhelmed by the tightness of her passage. Hermione was grateful for the momentary pause, as it gave her more time to adjust before he started fucking her in earnest.

His voice was shaky as he struggled to speak, “Oh, you’re even more exquisite than I thought.” 

His voice began to return to normal as he pulled himself back from the edge. “I didn’t think you could take me in more than halfway. You’re already well beyond that, and yet your pussy is clenching me, trying to draw me in even farther. Perhaps one day, you’ll take everything I have to give you.” Hermione was steeling herself to speak, to tell him that that wasn’t what was happening. The words were on her lips, and they died there as he pulled out, and slammed back into her roughly. With a pained, ear-piercing wail, Hermione finally screamed. 

She screamed herself hoarse until at last only pathetic, pained whimpers were punched out of her with every forward thrust. There was no strength left in her as she sagged into the wall, the chain pulling on her arms, pain tearing at her stretched shoulders. It was nothing compared to the agony between her legs as she accepted what he did to her. 

It was so gradual that Hermione could not have said exactly when it happened. She was wet from more than just Lucius’ precum easing his passage and the blood making her slick, and her moans were a result of something more than just pain before she noticed it had happened. Her hips were making small circles and she sobbed, this time with release as she came, muscles clamping down and milking his cock.

He reached his own climax soon after, hips stuttering to a halt. The wide head flared impossibly wider and he flooded her, pumping her so full, even that flared head plugging her up couldn’t contain all of his seed. It spilled out of her around his shaft, and Hermione chanced a glance downward to see it flowing like a small river to puddle between her legs. He leaned heavily against her back as he finished. She felt like her arms were going to be ripped off beneath his weight. He shuddered against her.

Lucius rested his cheek between her shoulder blades, breath hot on her back. She was lethargic, not far off from passing out, but she felt a fog lifting from her mind. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet, even in the near silent dungeon, that she almost couldn’t hear him. “Are you back with me, love? Are you here?” The raw emotion helped to clear her head further. 

She took stock of herself. Her pain was gone, the darkness receded, for the time being. “I’m here.”

He released a noise that sounded like a sob of relief, and she could swear he was crying as something wet trickled down her back.. His hand gripped her waist tightly, as he exhaled a shaky breath.

“I will never understand why you feel the need to punish yourself like this. I was sure this time would be the last time.” He sounded weary. Drained. He'd been carrying her burdens all night though. He had leave to sound drained.

“I shouldn’t love you,” she replied hollowly as his thumb stroked soothingly over her hip bone.

“And I should despise you. Love isn’t about should or shouldn’t. It just is. It’s not your fault, you know. You did nothing wrong.” He dropped a tender kiss on the spot between her shoulders where his cheek had rested, and pulled free as gently as he could. She still groaned as he did so. They had had this conversation before, and they would apparently have it again in the future. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but how could she make him understand her crushing guilt regardless? Ron’s devastated face the eve before the final battle? His broken lifeless body when it was all over? If she had just waited until it was over, maybe… 

Lucius freed her wrists, and she sagged boneless into his strong arms. She buried her face in his chest with a sniffle, and accepted the healing potion he held to her lips. She had never intended to fall in love with Lucius Malfoy. The anniversary celebration of the war’s end hadn’t felt like a celebration, and Hermione had sought solitude as quickly as was appropriate once the speeches had begun. She had found her way to the Shrieking Shack, only to find Lucius mourning the loss of his own friend. 

Neither had been drunk, and Hermione couldn’t remember who had acted first. One moment they had been hurling insults at one another, and the next, she been hurling him into the wall, her lips crushed against his. Like a whirlwind, they had begun their violent dance, seeking some kind of catharsis, only once it was all over, it had ended in unexpected tenderness, just as it did every time it happened thereafter. Hermione had been amazed at first at just how tender Lucius could be when she wasn't asking him to hurt her. There was no doubt in her mind that he did love her. He could always sense the darkening shift in her mood before she ever did these days. 

Lucius scooped her up and started for the stairs, heading to their ensuite bathroom, and then their bed just like always. 

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, love. It isn’t healthy,” he whispered into her hair as he carried her. 

“I won’t.” She knew it wasn’t healthy, that in a way, it was damaging her relationship with Lucius. She just couldn’t move past it yet no matter how hard she tried.

“You say that every time, Hermione,” he replied, exasperation creeping into his voice.

“And one of these times, it’ll be true.” One day, she wouldn’t just scream. She would release her guilt along with it, just let it go, and finally one day, she would be free. 

Hermione didn’t think it would happen the next time, but she desperately wished it would. 

He was always so gentle when he sat her down, plucking deftly at the hooks of her bra, and removing it with the utmost care. She watched him draw the bath, noting the time he took to make certain it was just right. It was almost a ritual for him; checking the water temperature, measuring out the scented bath oils, and carefully removing, folding, and setting aside his clothes. 

He took her hand when he finished, stepping into the water, and guiding her in with him. His eyes never left her face, searching for any hint of discomfort. It didn't matter to him that the healing potion was the best available. He always had to check for himself. 

Lucius settled them, her between his legs like always, and set about tenderly washing the evening from her body. He spoke quietly as he worked, telling her all sorts of things, asking how she felt, never really expecting an answer. Once, he had told her that he wished he could cleanse her mind as easily, and she hadn't known how to respond. He brushed gentle kisses across her shoulder as he scrubbed off the dungeon grime. Occasionally he hummed to himself, and Hermione loved that most of all, because she was sure that he didn't know that he did it. Lucius was truly in his element when he cared for her in the aftermath of one of her episodes.

She was growing drowsy from his ministrations when Lucius finally helped her out of the bath, wrapping her in a fluffy towel and carrying her to their bed, even though it was just in the next room. He dried her thoroughly, and brushed out her hair, the muggle way, and finally lay down with her, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and drawing her close. 

Hermione fell asleep quickly, as she almost always did, to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

\------

He still had her snug in his arms when she woke, the late morning sunlight streaming in through the drapes. 

“Have you been awake long?”

“No, not long,” Lucius replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She suspected it had been about an hour then.

Hermione looked up at him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. She slid up, kissing him slowly, sensually until she felt his hands wind into her hair and a low rumbling groan start in his chest. He smiled languidly, his eyes closed. When he cracked them open to look at her, she could tell they were already darkening.

Hermione moved atop him so that she could straddle his waist. She reached between them to guide him inside her, both of them groaning as he sank home. Lucius drew her back to him with a sigh of contentment, his lips meeting hers with tender affection.

He barely moved beneath her, letting her set the pace, content to simply hold her close and kiss her. Hermione rode him in the same slow and tender way he kissed her. Their lovemaking remained unhurried and she knew from experience it could go on for a while.

“Mmm, I love you,” he murmured between kisses. She kissed him harder, a small whimper escaping her lips. 

Hermione stared into his eyes, touching his cheek gently. They had done this before. This tender way that Lucius made love to her was a regular occurrence the morning after one of her episodes. Something was different this time. He held her desperately, as though she might slip away. Hermione could guess the reason.

They had never gone so far during an episode. She never been so lost as to require that level of violence. Looking at Lucius now, she saw how much it truly hurt him. This, right here, right now, was Lucius, not the other, and if things didn’t change, he would destroy himself trying to give her what she said she needed. 

“Hermione?” He looked at her, his movements slowing, a slightly puzzled look on his face.

“Shhh don't stop,” she answered, kissing him again. “I'll tell you later.”

“You’re sure? Are you okay?” His concern for her twisted her gut.

“We both know I’m really not, but I think maybe I will be. I think… I’m ready to get some help.”

The worry in his eyes changed with the realization her words brought. 

She couldn't put finger on why this time felt so different, but it didn’t really matter. The important thing was that now she had hope they would never have to go back to the dungeon and that the future didn’t look quite so bleak.

**Author's Note:**

> So Lucius is the gentle one this time and Hermione is the one with serious issues. Imagine that.


End file.
